Careers don't cry, Clove's story
by Frances Odair
Summary: Clove is the type of the person who just doesn't care. She wants glory, she wants triumph, but she's unaware that her life is not complete. So what will she do about feelings for her brutal district partner?
1. Chapter 1, the reaping

Chapter 1:

I send a knife whizzing through the air, unquestionably destined to hit the heart of the cotton dummy its aimed at. When it does, I give a grunt of satisfaction, and pretend I'm not elated by the admiring stares I get from others in the training centre. Who else can throw knives as perfectly as I? The answer is no-one, and that's the knowledge that keeps me going throughout each tiring day in District 2. No matter what people throw at me, as long as I remain unbeaten at my talent, I won't even flinch at the hardest of blows. That's been proven time and time again in the most trying times in my life. When my Mother died, for instance, I didn't even cry, and though deep inside I was heartbroken, I just went about my usual business. The time when my best friend was reaped for the Hunger Games, and never made it through, when a gang of eighteen year olds ganged up on me and used a dagger on my left arm (I still have the scars), I wasn't even swayed. My knives are my lifeline, and without them I would be nothing.

Finished for the day, I take my bag and march out of the training centre's doors, confidence written in my every step. No-one dares mess with me. I am Clove, the girl with the knives, who doesn't care about anything, anyone. Thats what everyone thinks. Including me. Huh.

Within a few minutes, I am at the town square, where usually there is an excellent view of the mountain and quarries that so many lives in district 2 depend on. Today, however, a few Capitol camera men have arrived for the reaping later, and are setting up thier equipment. I give them evil grins, knowing that in a few hours their silly little lenses will be trained on me, standing triumphantly on that stage.

Yes, later I will volunteer for the hunger games, become the District 2 female tribute, and a career. In a few weeks, I am certain I will be the 74th hunger games victor. That, like the outcome of my knife-throwing, is unquestionable.

Soon enough, I've arrived at the house me and my Father live in. He is sitting in an armchair by the fire in the kitchen, but we don't exchange any words as I walk past. Just glower at each other. Its always been like this.

For the reaping later, I wear my only dress, which is navy and knee length and not girly at all. Just what I want. When I walk downstairs, I reflect on what other Fathers will be doing, telling thier daughters how beautiful they look in their dresses. Nothing of the sort happens to me, of course. I just get a dirty look and a nod.

Silently, I walk once again to the town square. Kids and Teens are bundled in little pens which seperate the 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, and 18 year olds. I head to the 16 year old section after letting the peace keepers know I'm here by singing my name on a sheet. Everyone's excited, as this is District 2, where the Hunger games are a oppurtuntity for fame and glory, not something to be feared. As the district's escort, Tulip Romare, makes her way to the stage, I tense, longing to say those beautiful words - I volunteer.

After a lot of giggling and swinging her creepy claw like nails around, Tulip blabs on about the Dark Days, Treaty of treason, on and on. Finally she crosses the stage, dipping her hand into the girls' bowl to pick a name out. I'm ready, ready to volunteer... But there's no need. Because she's drawn out me, Clove Gladio.

Walking to the stage requires effort, but not the kind of effort all the other tributes will need. This effort consists of pretending I like the rest of District 2, that I'm happy and bold and carefree. Of course I don't like, never mind love, anyone in the world, and I'm not happy or carefree. On the other hand, I certainly am bold. Haven't I proved it with planning to volunteer for possible death? Only it will not be possible death, because I am not going to die. Not a chance.

I suddenly realize there isn't time to lose, or waste. Because I need to spend every second planning my gimmicks, tactics, approaches. Not a single person in the capitol or the districts is going to forget me. I'll make sure of it. I have to make sure of it.

Before the male tribute can be drawn, some muscular, blonde guy I vaguely recognize from training steps forward and volunteers. I don't pay attention to his name. What does it matter; he'll be dead soon anyway.

Some burly peacekeepers drag me to the justice building where I'll say goodbye to family and friends. Father walks in the room they hurl me in and makes a flat little speech about how he believes in me... knows I will come back... make him proud... blah blah blah. He leaves without shedding a tear and my trainer Baxton enters. After giving me some tips and doing another I believe in you speech, he leaves too. Finally, my training partner, Flint, arrives. This is something of a surprise, as we hardly ever speak, except to mutter helpful pointers and, more often, insults. He and I sit without speaking, until he decides to break the silence.

"You know, I'm really hoping you'll come back, because if you die in that arena, I'll be stuck with Rosa O'Clay for a training partner..." he tells me. I laugh, because Rosa O'Clay is weedy, untalented, but also conceited, and undoubtedly your worst nightmare. Flint wishes me luck and leaves looking rather pleased with himself.

The peacekeepers return; I am dragged out of the justice building, to the train that will take me to the Capitol, to my destiny.

And I can't wait.


	2. Chapter 2, the train

Chapter 2

Once I'm only the gently rocking tribute train, I know what I need to do for the rest of the day. Train. Prepare. Practise smiling.

Because smiling is what you must do to win the liking of the Capitol people. And if I'm honest, smiling isn't really my thing. If I'm going to be really honest, I HATE smiling. A lot. Weak people smile. I'm not weak.

I decide to find somewhere private, isolated, secluded. Unfortunately, on my way down the train's corridor, I am stopped three times. Firstly, by Tulip, who takes my arm and seems to think I actually want to talk to her.

I lose track after 'Hi, Clove,' and take to staring at my boots. After several minutes of listening to Tulip's ramblings, I reject her with a sharp snap of

"Yeah, Yeah, _pleasure _to meet you..." with more than a tiny hint of sarcasm in my voice, and carry on walking. I can just imagine her expression. But my escort isn't who I need to please, so why bother?

Secondly, by my mentor, Brutus, who I forgot to examine while he was on the stage. He opens his mouth to talk to me, but seems to read my expression.

"You wanna to chat later, right? Fine. No problem." he growls. Obviously it is a problem. But for him, not me. So I just carry on walking.

Thirdly, by my District partner, whose name, apparantly, is Cato. He introduces himself, smirking, and then offers me his hand to shake. I think hard. I'll need to ally with Cato - ally, not bond. We'll kill together, no more. So I ignore him and his hand, squeezing further down the corridor. What, did he think I'd be falling at his feet because he's a little good looking? If he did, then he's wrong, because I am Clove, and the day I fall at anyone's feet is the day that President Snow begins petitioning for animal rights. Exactly - never. Absolutely never.

Once I'm alone, I let out a deep, shuddering breath. Peace, concentration, at last. I slide into the dining compartment, where a couple of avox's are setting up for dinner later. After carefully slipping three carving knives that have been laid on a table into my pocket, I sneak out again. I'm now in another corridor, where the wooden panelling on the wall has woodland animals carved into it. Perfect.

I hold a knife ready, and throw hard. It hits whats meant to be a fox in the eye, just what I was aiming for. The next two hit the brains of a hummingbird and a squirrel. I collect the knives, hoping no-one will notice the cracks in the panelling, and throw again. I repeat this for several hours, forgetting who I am, what's happening, because I'm lost in the actvity, as always.

Time flies by, and before I know it, a cool voice is scolding me, and I turn round. It's Brutus.

"You shouldn't be doing that. It's not your property." he tells me. I scowl, telling him to leave me alone in the glance I give him. He ignores this. "Time for dinner. Everyone has been looking for you. Come on."

Though I'm fuming, I follow him to the dining compartment, where Tulip, Cato, and the other mentor, Enobaria, are seated. Enobaria bares her cosmetically altered teeth at me, which are sharp and tipped with gold, waiting to see my reaction. I merely give her my death glare. If looks could kill, she'd be flat out dead.

"Where was she?" Tulip squeaks, giving me a wary look. Good. I'm hoping Brutus will just say I was just down a corridor, but no such luck.

"Throwing knives at a wall." he says calmly. Enobaria raises her eyebrows.

"Well?" There's a pause. Then, Brutus replies.

"Very well." I'm the closest I've ever been to blushing. Which isn't very close, obviously, but still. As I sit down, I notice Cato giving me a death glare of his own. Probably Jealous.

Enobaria clears her throat.

"So, strengths. What are they?" she almost snarls at me and Cato. Cato speaks to her first.

"Swords, I guess. But I can hold my own with spears as well. Plus, I can break a neck in hand to hand combat." If he's expecting amazement, he doesn't get it.

"Good. I can work with that." is all Enobaria says. I'm then asked about myself. Momentarily, silence. There's only one thing I can say.

"Knives. I'm good with knives."

"EXCELLENT, with knives from what I've seen." Brutus grins. Again, I'm the closest I've ever been to blushing. But Enobaria still just nods.

"I can work with that too." Is all that she can say.

As soon as dinner is finished, I leave the dining compartment. Cato stops me halfway down the corridor.

"So... Do you want to discuss some tactics?" he asks confidently. After some thought, I decide to be polite.

"No thanks. I'm tired, sorry." I saunter down the corridor.

"Freaky little kid." I hear Cato mutter once he thinks I'm out of earshot.

Tears sting in my eyes, but I quickly wipe them away, because I'm a career now. And one of the most important things about being a career is this.

Careers don't cry.


	3. Chapter 3, Remake and chariots

Before you start reading this, know that I can't for the life of me remember whether the Capitol train journey lasts for a night or not so I just made it that way. So don't contradict!

Chapter 3

I lie awake almost all night, only managing to get an hour or two sleep in the end. But as I often go to sleep late and wake up early in District 2, it doesn't bother me the next day. In fact, I feel raring to go, even more energetic than if I'd slept like a log. I'm not complaining.

At the breakfast table, the mentors and Cato have a long conversation about strengths, weaknesses, tactics etc. etc. I decide not to join in unless forced. I'd forgotton to watch all the reapings on TV last night, and no-one bothered to remind me. I try not to feel irritated as Cato arrogantly sums up each tribute, probably incorrectly (Seriously, a volunteer from twelve? He must of been dreaming!), and describes the ways he will kill them all. I try to tune out, but its not working.

Finally, Enobaria suggests I go and watch them myself, causing me to sigh with relief. Unfortunately, Cato decides he's going to watch them again with me. Rrrrrr.

He talks all the way through the reapings, loudly. Still, I manage to shut him out and concentrate. The girl from one is blonde and pretty, but admittedly not very strong-looking. Her district partner is dark-haired, fairly muscly, but nowhere near as large as Cato. In the district 2 reaping me and Cato both look strong and confident and brutal. Excellent. Most of the others are skinny, scared, certain to die. I don't pay much attention to them. However, when 11 comes along, I notice the girl, a small 12 year old whom I almost (and I said almost) feel sorry for, and also the boy, or rather man, who is tall, tough, and a distinct but not too worrying threat. Lastly, it's twelve. Cato, its seems, was right - a girl volunteers to go instead of her little sister. I almost laugh at her distressed expression. Ahhh, love, the greatest weakness anyone can have. The girl, whose name is Katniss, will probably be dead moments into the games. So will her district partner, who I hate at sight. The fear in his eyes marks him out as an easy target. I instantly decide that I'll be the one to kill him. And I'll enjoy it.

Just as the reapings finish, the train pulls into the Capitol station. I almost choke when catch sight of the people outside the window. Sure, I've seen Capitol citizens on the TV, and considered them grotesque, but its not quite the same a this. Tulip Romare is pratically subtle compared to them. Thier faces are squashed and pulled, thier skin dyed neon colours or tatooed, thier eyelashes, nails, eyebrows and hair turned into sculptures and different shapes. I see a woman who has had Finnick Odair holding a bloody trident painted all over her body, a man whose eyelashes reach his chin and are a startling purple colour, and a baby with a triple piercings all over his body. Cruel, really.

Despite the Capitol's bizarre and horrible appearance, I smile, wave and smirk at them as I'm escorted to the remake center. When I arrive there, my crazy-looking prep team, Iris, Jasper, and Godetia, are waiting. They rip a ridiculous amount of hair from my body, scrub every last bit of dirt from my skin, and rub sweet smelling lotions all over me. When they've finished giving me a haircut, I'm sent to meet my stylist, Cress, who is a man but has hot pink hair that reaches his elbows, and curly blue eyebrows that are striped with red. Creepy. He dresses me in this stupid gladiator costume for the chariot rides later and makes my hair go all soft and shiny, somehow, when he styles it.

Cato is dressed similarly when we meet up next to our chariot. He gives me a smile that is scarily genuine.

"Nice costume, princess." he whispers. I leap into the chariot without replying, but to be fair without snapping at him, like I would usually do. He too springs into the chariot and suddenly we're off. The sounds I can hear (The Capitol audience, Cato yelling, the commentator) jumble together in my head and I find myself daydreaming, though at the same time making sure I look hard and cold and threatening. That's is my natural look, though, so I don't need to work too hard. I think of training back in District two, of Father and the days when my Mother was alive. It was her who taught me to throw knives, her who gave me my talent... I glance behind me, at the other tributes. Thats when I see them, and fury grips me like a fiery hand. District 12. They've totally outshone everyone else with thier flaming costumes, and attention is no longer payed to the other tributes. Though I want to smash thier stupid skulls out, I try to remain calm. All the more reason to kill them, I think, all the more reason to kill them. My mind wanders to District 2 again and I develop a vacant expression...

"Clove!"

I am jolted back to the present. The chariot rides are over and all the tributes are out of the chariots and chatting to thier mentors and stylists. It's Brutus shouting at me, predictably. He's most likely annoyed about twelve, like I am. I catch sight of the District 1 tributes, Glimmer and Marvel I think they're called, and stare at them for a while.

"Go introduce yourself." Its not so much an order Enobaria gives me than a suggestion. And its a good one, as me, Cato and the Disrict 4 tributes will have to ally with Marvel and Glimmer. I stride over to them.

"I'm Clove." I say "District 2."

"Marvel." One of them says "District one. And this is Glimmer."

Cato's shadow looms over me. Glimmer gives him a cheesy grin. Marvel, who's obviously been predicting this, rolls his eyes. My district partner begins to speak.

"The name's Cato. Cato Grayman." He sounds so silly, I want to laugh. Marvel is carefully concealing a smirk. But Glimmer is gazing at Cato like he's a shining god. Poor girl. She must have severe problems.

If someone can actually admire Cato, maybe President Snow will begin petitioning for animal rights after all. You never know. This thought keeps me smiling all the way to floor two on the training center where I'll stay until the games begin. My room alone is bigger than the house I live in at home, and the whole suite is so large that the cost of it would provide for a District 2 family for a decade. They're so wasteful here. With a pang I remember my Mother's death, in the days that District 2 had few hunger games victors, when she starved to death and nobody noticed, because she was giving her food to me in an attempt to keep me healthy. And she didn't even need to. I'm furious at the way things had to happen for a moment, so much so distress takes hold of my heart. But I don't let a single tear drip down my cheek.

Because I'm a career. And careers don't cry.


	4. Chapter 4, training

Chapter 4

The next day, it's training. Me and Cato follow Brutus and Enobaria to the bottom floor of the training centre, where there are a variety of stations, each of them manned by instructors who all teach something different - survival skills to weaponary. Of course, as I've been spending most of my life working at perfecting each of these skills, especially knives, it's inevitably unnecessary. Basically, for me, this is just a chance to intimidate other tributes. And that I will do.

We're the first to arrive, but the other tributes arrive fairly quickly. With the possible exception of those from 1 and 4, oh and the eleven boy, who is actually a lot taller than me and rises above even Cato, they all look like young toddlers, scared and in an unfamiliar enviroment. Some instructor gives us a boring talk and tells us that we can begin. I spend most of the morning throwing knives, blindfolded, backwards, even, at one point, hanging upside down from a rope. Katniss, who is sticking to her district partner like glue, looks absolutely terrified of me. Maybe she can tell I'm already planning her death. And her boyfriend's.

Mostly though, she watches Cato, who is skewering dummies through he heart from 20 metres. I make a mental note to tell him she's mine to kill. He can have Thresh, who is the eleven boy, I guess. When I get bored of 'killing' dummies I do a bit of archery, which I'm not bad at, but don't really enjoy, and watch Glimmer and Marvel.

Glimmer, to say the least, will not be any use except to get sponsors. Her aim is terrible, her strenghth minimumal, and her ruthlessness non existant. Marvel is excellent with a spear, not bad with a sword, but rather untalented with knives. I'll give him a lesson later, if I have time. We have lunch in a large room where most of the tributes sit alone, but us careers share a table and, surprisingly, the 12 tributes do too. How sweet.

Cato talks to Glimmer about his awesomeness, and she hangs on his every word. I'm beginning to get really worried about her. However, her infuriating little giggle that rings repeatedly through the air stops me from asking if she feels well. After lunch, I head over to the spear station, which _was _empty. But Marvel joins me, and whispers in my ear.

"Want to have some fun?" I glower at him suspiously, but he ignores this and nods at Cato and Glimmer. Glimmer is following Cato from station to station like a lost puppy. She's really got it bad. Me and Marvel walk over to the weightlifting station, which is next to the one that Cato and Glimmer are working at, and begin to sing some love songs that I sometimes here on the stuttering radio I listen to at home. It's obviously annoying them, which only makes us sing louder. I'm behaving more immaturely than I ever have in my whole life, even when I was small, but I'm also having the most fun I've had in ages. Finally, Cato throws his sword to the ground in a rage and storms over to the other side of the room. Glimmer looks hurt, which is the cue for me and Marvel to break into a song about being all alone. She too storms off, and although the fun has finished, I've made a new friend, I think. I assist Marvel with his knife throwing like I planned, and he helps me with spears. I notice Cato scowling at his hand on my arm as I prepare to throw, and smirk. Jealous, maybe? His actions confirm this as he goes and places an arm protectively around Glimmer. Oh this is going to be fun.

I'm expecting sharp digs and sarcastic comments when I return to floor 2, but Cato has actually decided to try and butter me up with a Mr-nice-guy approach. I really do pity him. Is he really stupid enough to think he can fool me with compliments and smiles? Evidently, yes, because for the next few days he talks to me continuously, rambling on about how in the arena we're going to be an unbeatable pair, about the excellent ways we are going to kill people etc. etc..

With Glimmer, he decides to continue with the 'I'm so awesome aren't I?' thing. I wouldn't be surprised if he moved on to the twelve girl next. He'd kill both me and Glimmer in our sleep if necessary and I know it. So generally I avoid him, and spend time with Marvel in training. He tells me all about his life in District 1, his training and his job etc., and I tell him my life story. I don't know why, but it feels good to get everything off my chest. At least I'm not forced to make conversation with Cato, because he seems to be slowly giving up and leaving me alone. I notice that the twelve tributes go everywhere together. With the exception of the bathroom of course. And even then they wait outside the door for each other! I think its probably thier mentor, some drunk lunatic, making them do this, because though the boy seems to like the girl, she seems noticably wary of him. Scared even of that weedy thing? What a gutless chicken.

The night before the private sessions with the gamemakers, Cato decides to make, once more, conversation with me. No, not once more - because he never really made conversation before, just talked while I listened. Actually I barely listened, so this is even more of a surprise because of that.

"So... I saw you in training. You're good with knives." Is his pathetic beginning. Does he not realize I might of noticed I'm the best with knives in the whole of District 2?

"Is that a compliment?" I ask him. He looks at me as if I'm crazy.

"Um... Yes?" He gives me another 'your a lunatic' glance. It looks so funny on him I instantly resolve to watch out for it every time it comes.

"You might of been mocking me."

"What - don't you trust me?" It's my turn to give what I've nicknamed the YAL glance. This is the hunger games, and trust just isn't part of it. I voice this aloud, causing Cato to frown.

"But like I said - we're going to unbeatable - haven't you been listening to what I've told you?" Not really. But what I did register was that it was all lies.

"You weren't telling the truth, obviously. How gullible do you think I am?" He looks angered, confused, and... hurt (?) at my word.

"I meant it." He mutters. "I must be a really bad liar if I seem like one when I'm telling the truth..."

So he's finally caught on. I turn to walk away from him, but he catches my arm.

"The twelve girl is mine." He says in a hard voice, jarringly different to the one he used seconds previously. I pull away from his grip.

"No." I snarl "I'm going to kill her with no interferance from _you."_

He slaps me, hard, and marches away. The spot where he hit me throbs; however, I remain composed.

Because I'm a career. And careers don't cry.

Sorry this chapter is short and boring but the next one (private sessions) will be better. Promise!


	5. Chapter 5, Private sessions

By the way this is going to be a short chapter because there isn't really much to write about. I know I promised this one would be better than the last but I'm just going to make that promise for the interviews...

Chapter 5

It's the private sessions. I'm waiting for my turn, pricks of anxiety stabbing my body. This is the only time so far I'm worried because I know I need to impress. If I get a low score, my sponsor numbers will plummet, far far down. Glimmer, Marvel and Cato all go in one by one. I know Marvel and Cato will do well, but Glimmer... She'll have to be hiding some wonderful talent to get a good score. I'm hoping for a nine to eleven, maybe even a twelve if the game-makers are in a good mood. But it's not likely they will be.

Cato, who is before me, seems to be taking ages with his session. Though there is no clock in the room I'm waiting in with the other tributes, I can almost sure I can hear slow-motion ticks and tocks echoing around. I grip the edges of my seat, furious at the slowness of time.

After what seems an age, I'm called to go in. I've been planning these few moments for most of my life. I remember what I've been doing in training, and grab a blindfold. I take some heavy, silver daggers and knives, climbing one handed up a rope to the roof. I then hang there from my fingers, nodding at the game makers to switch on the moving targets. One of them does, and after placing the blindfold over my eyes, I send knives straight at them, hitting exactly the right positions each time. It must look spectacular, but I haven't done enough. I think about a massive camouflage tent canvas in the corner, and aim at that. Soon, I've completely covered the tent with knives. The gamemakers tell me I can go, nodding in approval. I know that I'll get at least a nine.

When the elevator arrives at level two, Brutus, Enobaria, Cato, Tulip, Cress, and Cato's stylist, Karkalla, are waiting for me. Whilst we have eat the magnificent but overly rich feast that's been laid out for us, I'm questioned about what I did in my Private session. When I tell everyone, they seem satisfied. Cato gives me an account of how he sliced through blocks of wood and ripped the heads off fourteen dummies. I just nod and smile, but I am beginning to like Cato more now, despite our argument last night. At least he's not weak. I can't bear weak people.

Everyone sits down to watch the tribute's scores broadcasted on the television. Glimmer gets a EIGHT, which is shameful for a career. Marvel earns a nine, and me and Cato both score tens. We dance around the room, shouting gleefully. No-one else, as the other scores flash across the screen, gets as good as us. That is, until Thresh, who equals us. I don't mind. I still got the highest no matter who got it with me.

Mellark surprisingly gets an eight, and then there's a horrible surprise. Everdeen scores an eleven. An ELEVEN. I storm into my room, throwing a plate at the wall. I can hear Cato in a similar rage. An eleven!

I will kill her. I will. Angry tears stream down my cheek, and for once I don't care that I'm a career.

For once I don't care that careers don't cry.


	6. Chapter 6, interviews

I've forgotten about the disclaimer till now, so I do not own the hunger games, or Clove or Cato or Marvel or Glimmer or Brutus or Enobaria etc., but I do own Tabby and Cress and a few others.

Chapter 5

On the morning on the interviews, I'm filled with more dread than what I have for the beginning of the games. Which isn't much, but will be for the other tributes. The dread they will be feeling for the day we enter the arena will be huge, and it will also be similar in size to what I'm feeling for today. Because today I'm going to have another encounter with my prep team and, god forbid, Cress, in preparation for my interview later.

After I've been beautified/tortured by Iris, Jasper and Godetia, I wait for him in the same room I did last time, tapping my hand on the wall in impatience. When he arrives, I almost choke at his newest hairstyle. His now egg-yolk yellow locks have been crimped, extended and plaited, finishing wrapped around his forehead. The eyebrows are still curly but acid green, and he's accessorized with golden earrings the size of dinner plates. Its certainly a unique look, but not one I hope that my new one will be inspired by.

He gives me a dress to wear (I hate dresses), a silky thing covered in silver netting, and it's a struggle to even touch it without retching. Then I am given some stupid silver headdress, and I wait, apprehensive, for the surely awful shoes I'll have to actually place on my feet. However, Cress seems to think it would be best if I went BAREFOOT to make me seem more of a fighter. And a pretty dress REALLY inspires that I'm just that. I'm blaming him if I get a splinter.

When I'm waiting next to the stage with the other tributes while Glimmer does her interview, it's almost all I can can do to not break the neck of everyone standing around me I feel so stupid. Glimmer is dressed in a transparent golden dress that she seems to really like. Originally she was going for the gorgeous approach, but it's sort of turned to a sweet little girl act. Still, the Capitol audience seem to like her.

My eyes wander to the district 4 tributes. They're a part of the careers, but whenever they sit with us they always look a bit uncomfortable and don't talk much. The girl, Tabby, is only thirteen and very small, unusually for a career. I've grown quite fond of her (though on reflection I suppose I could kill her if necessary) and we all tease her give her the mocking nickname Tabby cat. She doesn't seem to mind - I think her Mother used to call her that back in District 4 or something - and the person she spends the most time with is Glimmer. They have the same flowing golden hair.

The 17 year old boy, Graham, has the brains and looks of a hamster. He's of the same build of Cato, so even though he's decidedly unskilled he can generally beat people in hand to hand combat. Even then he uses brutality and not wit to win. I think Marvel was able to beat him in training, which just goes to show.

The buzzer sounds for Glimmer and Marvel makes his way to the stage. Like his District partner, his angle sort of changes throughout the interview. He starts with arrogantly confident, but begins leaning towards 'funny guy' later on. The District 1 mentors, Cashmere and Gloss, don't seem too bothered, as Marvel was a hit anyway.

I vaguely notice Cato walking past me to the stage. I have to admit he does well, becoming a bloodthirsty killing machine, being very open about his tactics with just a hint of mystery. He's easily the favourite so far. In fact, when his buzzer goes, the audience let out a groan of disappointment. The interviewer, Ceasar Flickerman, laughs and states that rules are rules. Then, it's me.

I'm not nervous, just longing to get it over with so I don't have to spend another second looking at the ghastly faces of the Capitol people. After the chariot rides, flaming suits, dresses, handbags, hats and all the rest seem to have become the new fashion. It makes me angry, but I don't let it show on my face. I'm not giving twelve that satisfaction.

I answer with arrogant sarcasm and wit, explaining how ruthless I am, how nothing will prevent me from winning these games. Ceasar congratulates me on my score. The cheers of the Capitol are dizzying and ear-splitting, so I know I've done well. In fact, I've earned myself an dirty look from Glimmer. Her beauty and charm has been forgotten now I've upstaged her. After my final answer (Don't forget me. I won't be beaten, and soon I'll be standing in front of you as your victor, Capitol.") I'm certain that no-one can hold a candle to my success.

I don't pay much attention to the other interviews. Tabby is very sweet, stating how careers aren't usually the underdogs, but this time she is the underdog, and in almost every storybook there is, the underdog always pulls through, and that what she will do etc. Thresh plays it strong and silent, Rue, the twelve year old, says she is hard to catch, and therefore kill. Finally, it's time for Katniss Everdeen. She's so girlishly charming I want to puke. When she spins in her swirling flame dress, I almost do. Though she's infuriating, however, the twelve boy, Peeta Mellark I think he's called, is ten times more so. He is a joker, and him and Ceasar make a great pair, admittedly. Inevitably, though, Ceasar asks him the ever-dreaded romance question that he's held back until now. Mellark blushes (Really?) and then, acting all embarassed, admits he's totally in love with Everdeen. Of course he is, the little liar. She goes bright red and the Capitol audience absolutely hang on every word Mellark says, completely buying the so-called confession of love. I realize what total twits they all are. Twelve's tributes would fit right in with them. Only their not going to get the chance, because I am even more determined for them to die at my hands than before. Not Cato's, nor anybody elses. Mine.

When head back to my room on floor two, I remember the actual games start tomorrow. Tommorow I enter the arena. It's exciting, and, though it never was before, a little scary. No-where near scary enough to make me weep, however.

Because I'm a career. And careers don't cry.


	7. Chapter 7, the first day

Chapter 7

It's the morning of the games. The day I enter the arena. For the first time in my life, I'm terrified.

You don't need to be scared, I tell myself again and again. I'm a career, so I have no-thing to fear. But no amount of reassurance will make the feeling go away. I just can't stop my hands from trembling slightly.

I think Enobaria notices how I feel, and after giving me a comforting smile (kind of a fail because of her teeth) asks if I'm okay. I tell her it's just excitement, but only eat a few pieces of fruit for breakfast so I don't throw everything up. Cato looks kind of sick too as he nibbles on a baguette, some kind of posh bread they have here. I glance at him as we board the hovercraft that will take us to the arena, and honestly wouldn't be surprised when I see his face if he actually puked. But he doesn't, of course, because we're careers. We have to remain strong. During the ride to the arena I'm sitting in between Marvel and Cato, and the three of us pretend to predict how great we will do later, when really we're just telling this to ourself whilst our insides scream in fear. It's not a nice experience.

I'm finally sent to a room under the arena with Cress, who gives me the outfit I'll wear during the games. It's a nice cosy range of clothes that will serve me just fine. Once I've put them on, I wait next to the traditional glass cylindor that lifts me up to the arena with my stylist. He gives me some so-called advice, but it's quite frankly a load of rubbish that you'd expect from a Capitol person. When a cool voice says 'thirty seconds to go', I give Cress a curt nod and enter the cylinder. After what is only half a minute but seems like an age, it begins to rise. Suddenly, I'm blinded by sunlight, and it's a few seconds before I can see my surroundings properly.

The golden cornicopia, a large horn which all the supplies are stacked by, stands in the middle of a stretch of hard ground. I see a lake, some fields, and a huge forests which will be the hiding place of most of the other tributes. Cato stands two tributes away from me, with Glimmer and Thresh on either side of him. My eyes sweep over Everdeen, Marvel, Rue, Mellark. I'm about to assess the others when I spot a vest of beautifully shaped knives on the ground. Those knives are mine. 10... 9... 8... 7...

I position myself to run.

6... 5... 4... 3...

I'm almost teetering off my metal stand.

2... 1...

"Ladies and Gentlemen, let the 74th Hunger Games begin!"

I sprint to the cornicopia, pushing tributes aside on my way. Once I've reached the knives, I become powerful, unbeatable, a defintion of extreme brutality. The sharp blades feel like pure strenghth in my hands. No-one can stop me now. I throw a knive at a small boy from District seven, killing him on the spot. Another I aim at the girl from his District. She falls to the ground, never to think another thought. Killing is actually a lot harder than I predicted it would be, but at this moment doing it is absolutely necessary. My life depends on it.

I spot the boy from District Nine fighting with some girl over an orange backpack. I end his life, then turn to the girl. My eyes widen in delight as I realize it's fire girl, Katniss Everdeen. One of my knives fly towards her exposed neck. But she heaves the backpack she claimed from the nine boy up, deflecting the hit. I kick the ground, furious that she's slipped away. As I turn back around, I realize the bloodbath is over. The other careers are huddled next to the remaining supplies.

As I go to join them, I note with a jolt of shock that Tabby, alive, is wiping blood off a knife on her shirt. I always thought of her as shy, sweet, hesitant, like Rue, but now I realize that she has bravery, power and ruthlessness in her. As I'm wondering how many people she actually killed, I look at Cato and see he is staring at Tabby in disbelief as well. He composes himself, though, and asks how many kills everyone got.

"Three." I mutter. Everyone nods in approval, and Tabby harshly but with an air of embaressment, says she got one. Even though it's not many, I'm impressed.

"Same as Tabby!" Glimmer giggles.

"Two." Marvel adds. Finally, Cato murmurs that he got three. So thats ten altogether.

"Wait!" Glimmer gasps as we all begin to plan our next move. "Where's Graham?"

I look around and see him on the ground, not dead but with a bloody dent on his skull and his eyes half closed.

"Who did that?" asks Marvel. Tabby speaks out unexpectedly.

"Thresh." she says "I saw him do it with a rock." I send a knife into Graham's brain, telling myself what I'm doing is kind, that I'm preventing him from feeling any more pain. We all stare at his body for a while, not sad but somewhat shocked. The look on Cato's face suggests that when we find Thresh, he'll not rest until District eleven has met his surely slow and painful end.

We slowly begin to set up our camp, positioning the supplies in different piles, barely talking. Eleven cannons boom as the sun begins to set. From now on the cannon shots that occur when a tribute dies will come the moment that he or she's life ends, but as today the many shots that come would be too confusing all at once, they wait until the end of the day. The Capitol anthem plays and the faces of the dead tributes flash across the sky. I look eagerly for a picture of Thresh or Mellark. Niether of them appear. I scowl deeply, but grin when I see the faces of the seven tributes and the nine boy. I notice Tabby looks kind of upset when after Graham's appearance.

"Don't worry, Tabby Cat." I call, earning myself a few stares. "It just goes to show how much stronger you are than him."

She smiles politely, but when eveyone is snuggled up in sleeping bags whilst Cato keeps watch, I'm sure I hear her snivelling. Doesn't she understand that she's a career?

Doesn't she understand that careers don't cry?


	8. Chapter 8, the first night

**I know this chapter isn't really that good, and that the scene after the district 8 girl's death may be inaccurate, but since I've lost my kindle I can't find out exactly what everyone said from the book... So I just did it from memory. When I find my kindle, I'll change it!**

Chapter 8

I hear a rustle of leaves. One simple sound, it may seem to you. But in the hunger games, a rustle can be the last thing you ever hear.

It's pitch black, the middle of the night. I sit bolt upright, tangled in my sleeping bag, and can't see anything except from the glowing coals of the fire Cato created earlier. Slowly, though, my eyes adjust to the darkness, and I can make out silhouettes, probably of trees, bushes, and my fellow careers. Glancing around, I spot Marvel, who was on watch, with a spear in his hand, ready to leap forward. I guess he heard the sound, too. Carefully, so as not to startle him, I whisper hoarsely.

"Did you hear something?"

He whips around, tensed, ready to throw, but soon realizes it was me who spoke and lowers his weapon.

"Someone moving around. Was it you?" I pause, my brain still foggy from sleep and struggling to construct an answer.

"No." I manage to get out. I'm about to slide back down into my sleeping bag, forget about the noise, which was probably just an animal, amd surrender to sleep, when a stumbling figure staggers out of the trees. I leap to my feet, instinct screaming at me to kill this intruder, but Marvel gets there first. He sends his spear straight at the boy's - I can now see his broad figure which marks him out as of the male gender - heart, but, unfortunately, whoever it is dives out of the way.

"Wait! Wait! Don't kill me! I can help you!" It's Mellark. I would recognize that infuriating voice anywhere. It's almost as bad as Glimmer's. I pin him down on the ground, jam a knife against his throat, prepare to give the deathblow. Pleasure is building up inside me, brutal satisfaction and excitement threatening to overwhelm me. I've waited too long for this, too long. Mellark is seconds away from death when a strong hand pulls me away from him. Cato. I didn't even know he was awake. But lover-boy is mine to kill. If I can't have Everdeen, then he's the next best thing. And Cato has ruined my precious moment! I want to tear out his flesh, rip out every hair on his head, bruise him so badly he won't be able to walk, but something stops me. Even from my bubble of the rage I'm feeling, I can just register Cato's voice.

"How can you help us?"

"I'll help you find her! Katniss Everdeen! I know where she went!" That annoying little squeak again. But... on reflection, I want to spill lover-girl's blood more than lover-boy's, and if he can lead us to her... Surely it wouldn't hurt to let him live a little longer? If I can restrain myself from murdering him, that is.

I think I surprise everyone by speaking. No, I amaze, shock, stun, astonish, bewilder, dumbfound, and perplex everyone. But it doesn't matter. They'll all have to die anyway.

"Leave it. Let him live. If he can help us find her, it'll be worth it." Everybody just stares, including Glimmer and Tabby, who have just awoken. Finally, though, Cato nods.

"She's right." He turns to lover-boy. "But if you betray us, help _her, _or make any mistakes, you're DEAD."

"Literally." Marvel adds. He always has to ruin a moment that others have had to build up to with a joke, it seems.

No-one can really think of what to do, now we've decided to accept lover-boy's help. Glimmer voices this aloud, serious for once.

"We could hunt. Other tributes. We should be doing that anyway." barks Tabby. Not a bad idea, really. And she's right, we SHOULD be hunting tributes throughout the night, but Cato insisted we get some rest. And he spent half the evening snuggled up with Glimmer. Probably cribbing off the 'star-crossed-lovers' idea to get sponsors.

The two boys, who both seem to of elected themself as leader of the career pack, agree with Tabby's statement, and we all set off, lover-boy trotting behind us. The trip around the woods is pretty uneventful, and though we do come across the crippled boy from didtrict 10, he hides somewhere and we can't find him. Finally, though, we spot the smoke from a fire quite near, and run in that direction, not bothering to hide our euphoria. When we reach the fire, there's a girl, from District 8 I think, dozing beside it. Cato marches forward and drives his sword through her. We all hoot in delight, loudly. Am I the only one that sees the slight spasm of pain that crosses Cato's face as the girl pleads with him?

Apparantly. I suggest we rest for a moment, let the hovercraft take away the girl's body, so we settle beside a couple of swaying willow trees nearby. But something's wrong.

"Shouldn't we have heard a cannon by now?" Marvel asks. So he noticed it too.

"I'd say yes. No-thing to prevent them from going in immediately." I agree.

"Unless she isn't dead." Tabby chips in.

"She's dead. I struck her myself." Cato is obviously angry at being questioned. He likes to be right.

"Then where's the cannon?" I hiss, wanting to annoy him more than anything.

"Someone should go back. Make sure the job's done." Glimmer chirps, once again unusually speaking sense.

"Yeah." I tell her. "We don't want to have to track her down twice."

"I said she's dead!" Cato yells at me. I ignore him, glancing up at the tree that I'm leaning against, sure I heard a noise from up there.

"Then where's the cannon?" someone challanges, Marvel probably. I'm still squinting at the leaves above me. Then, catching everyone's attention, lover-boy interrupts the argument.

"We're wasting time! I'll go finish her and let's move on!"

"Go on, Lover-boy." smirks Cato. "See for yourself."

"Why don't we just kill him now and get it over with?" whispers Marvel once he's gone.

"Let him tag along." I sigh. "What's the harm? And he's handy with that knife." It's true. I saw him throw a dagger at a tree with almost as much accuracy as me. "Besides," I continue, with more confidence. "He's our best chance of finding her."

"Why? You think she bought into that sappy romance stuff?" someone demands.

"She might have." Cato nods as he says this. "Seemed pretty simple minded to me. Every time I think of her spinning around in that dress, I wan't to puke."

I laugh, because I feel exactly the same way. But a thought silences me.

"Wish we knew who she got that eleven."

"Bet you lover-boy knows." We stop talking as Lover-boy himself returns.

"Was she dead?" Cato asks.

"No." mutters lover-boy. "But she is now."

I'm sceptical until the cannon fires.

"Ready to move on?" he says. We all grab our backpacks and begin walking in the direction of the moon. I can sense the hovercraft lifting the dead girls body into the air and disappearing.

It wasn't her fault that she was picked for the Hunger Games, that we targeted her as one of our victims. It's just the way things are. I don't cry for her, because I'm a career.

And careers don't cry.


	9. Chapter 9

**If you read my authors note at the beginning of the 73rd hunger games, you'll now know I was totally lying. I just can't resist uploading another chapter of this story. So from now on ignore me and my stupid fibs. Ok? Good, and may the odds be ever in your favour...**

**Oh, and I read through this fanfic so far and realized my chapters are embarrassingly short. They're going to be a bit longer from now on.**

Chapter 9

If there's one thing I never knew I hated, it's boredom.

In District 2, all day every day is training training training, with small breaks for eating and sleeping. There just isn't time to be bored. It isn't something I've ever really experienced before. The closest I ever got to it was watching the 68th hunger games - the snowy one where everyone died of cold within three days.

So now when my hours consist of wandering around unchanging forest landscape, fruitlessly looking for tributes that never appear, I'm not used to the incredible frustration I feel. I wish and wish for something exciting to happen. And then I realize what people mean when they say be careful what you wish for.

A whole day of peace, that I labelled boredom, seems like heaven when I see it. _Katniss everdeen._ I think as I scramble over a log and run for my life. _T__he girl who was on fire. _Is the wall of flames that hiss and leap at me and the other careers as we sprint, choking, in a direction we can't identifiy, the outcome of her elaborate costumes? Are we being tortured in this particular way because of her nickname?

I don't pause to ponder. I just run.

The flames are unnaturally high, soaring above the highest trees, then unbelievably fast, sending terrifingly scorching sparks and jets of red at my body. I don't know how I manage to dodge the burning bushes and leaves that suddenly collapse into my path. All I register is that the fire is becoming less frequent... Or that's what I think. Because now there's another hazard.

No - not hazard, horror. Fireballs, no bigger than an orange, yet hitting the ground with so much force there are explosions of heat everywhere, begin hurtling towards me. I am burned on my back, my cheek, my wrist. It's pain like I've never experienced before, and I'd thought I had felt all kinds of pain. But I can't stop to rest, I must keep going, rolling and diving like my life depends on it. Which it does.

My eyes water with agony, creating wet tracks in the grime coating my face. Scorching black smoke prevents me from breathing properly, filling my lungs with tormenting aching and clogging up my insides with sinister things. I choke, my throat burning. This is my end, my slow and painful end, burning to death, alone, alone...

"Clove!"

The voice that calls my name is raspy and unrecognizable, but even so, it tells me that I'm not alone, someone wants me alive. I curl into a ball, hiding from the world. My world, that has now become the arena. The world that I'm not going to die in, that I WON'T die in. No.

"Clove! Where are you! CLOVE!" More shouting. However, I can't find the strength to raise my head, drag myself forward. All I can do is call.

"Here... I'm... Here..."

Then, nothing. Just darkness. Black, black, black.

When I open my eyes, the first thing I see is Marvel's face, spiked with concern but trying to hide it. The first thing I feel is searing pain all over my body. I yelp, only nothing comes out because my throat feels like it's on fire. I sit up, only to activate a sharp stab of suffering in my back. White stars shine before me and I know I'm going to black out, like I must of done before, if I don't lie down again. So that's what I do.

"Glimmer still hasn't woken up. She should of though, she only got one burn." Cato's voice. It sounds unnaturally quiet, and I notice a faint, throbbing ringing in one of my ears. After taking several deep breaths, I attempt to slide up from my horizontal position again, this time succeeding. I can feel Tabby's small, cold hands rubbing medicine onto my wounds. What is at first added torture, at her touch, becomes wonderful relief. I can't help but sigh contently.

I risk a glance at Cato and Marvel, whose eyes are both on me.

"And you've been out for a few hours. We found you unconscious near that stream we saw the other day. I carried you here." the former says. Did I really need to know that last bit? Am I meant to be grateful? I guess I should be, but my district partner's words mean that he wasn't weak enough to black out. And I was. It makes me angry, rubs me the wrong way.

"Great. You seem to have really suffered." As I snarl this I stare pointedly at the single burn on Cato's forehead, my eyes flickering back to my own numerous patches of reddened skin. When I look at Glimmer, Marvel, lover-boy, and Tabby, I see that they, with the exception of the first, have also gone through much more than Cato. This, too, angers me.

"Well, your welcome." The annoyed comeback doesn't affect me. I just stand up, trying not to wince as a particularly bad burn on my arm brushes against a tree trunk, and, without asking permission, take some of the tinned soup that everybody has been feasting on. As I lift the second spoonful to my mouth, Glimmer yawns pathetically and rises from her 'bed' of leaves and mud.

"What happened?"

"Oh, nothing." I snap. "Just a huge forest fire nearly killing us all, nothing at all." Glimmer's features twist into a hurt expression, then she begins to whimper.

"What is your problem Clove? Seriously? Are you _jealous _of me?"

My eyes widen in genuine disbelief. It takes a moment for it to sink in that she actually said that.

"What, jealous of your- your weak personality, no talents, slow reactions, dumb brain-"

"Clove!"

I don't let Marvel prevent me from ranting. "Jealous of THAT? I don't think so! You're the worst career in this alliance, Glimmer! Lover-boy has more skill than you! Tabby could beat you easily in a fight! It's clear your not going to get anywhere in these games, so why not just kill yourself now?" My grip tightens on my knife, that has explicably (I would say inexplicably, only the relationship I have with my favourite weapon is far more than just special) found its way into my hand. I don't even bother moving as Glimmer aims one of her arrows and me, using the silver bow she found at the cornicopia. Her aim's so bad the chances of her hitting me are smaller than Rue beating Cato in a wrestling match. But even so, it sends Marvel to the end of his tether. I think he's going off me a bit now, but he still knows I'm feared and skilled, easily one of the most useful in the careers. He needs me alive.

"Stop it! Your being stupid! Put down your weapons!" Glimmer lets her bow and arrow fall to the ground, but I utterly refuse to give up my knife. I need it more than anything.

"PUT IT DOWN, CLOVE!"

"Not a chance." I growl. "Don't worry, I won't murder you. Or Glimmer. Yet."

Marvel is suddenly almost nose to nose with me, hands raised. He sends both of them in to my chest, pushing me a few steps backwards. All my life I've been told what to do when this happens. I retaliate. A knife slices through the air, piercing Marvel's chin. Unfortunately, I don't throw hard enough, and there is only an unfatal and small cut there. I can hear Marvel cursing, and don't realize I'm trembling with regret until I'm curled up on the ground. Somehow, Marvel's arms close around me, not only comforting me but both of us. I let him hold me, silently apoligizing for my actions before. Everything is perfect until I hear Marvel's shout.

I scramble to my feet, shocked at the scene that meets my eyes. Cato, with his hand on Marvel's collar, seriously angry.

"Don't touch her again if you want to live! Do you hear me?"

I know Marvel wants to refuse, but that would lead to a fight, and it's obvious who will win between the two of them. He has to agree to Cato terms.

"Yes." Still, Cato looks like he's about to kill him. His hands are probably moments away from closing around Marvel's throat when lover-boy intervenes.

"It's him! The three boy! Over there!"

No-one pauses. We just grab our weapons and run. I easily draw ahead, slimness, agility and lifelong training giving me the edge. The district three boy is indeed running towards the forest ahead at a slow pace. His short legs have barely taken him ten metres before I've grabbed hold of him.

"Gotcha! Say hello to death, kid."

"Wait! Don't kill me! I can help you!" The boy is screaming in his desperation. I get a strange sense of Déjà vu.

"How can you help me?" I say in a voice that clearly shows I am bored. The others have caught up now, panting as they watch the events unfold.

"I'm from District 3! I know technology stuff!"

"Oh, and I'm sure your knowledge will really help us! But it's not going to help you now." I raise my knife and the boy begins to struggle.

"No! Please! I-"

"Shut up! SHUT UP!"

"I can reactivate the landmines in the ground! Protect your supplies! Cause deaths!" This stops my blade from entering his heart. I have to admit, that does sound like a clever plan. But can the boy really do what he says he can? I look at the others for support. Glimmer, Tabby, and lover-boy all look suspicious, but it's not thier opinions I want. Cato and Marvel are both reluctantly nodding.

"Fine. You can try to reactivate the mines. But if you can't... I'll let Clove have the pleasure of ending your life." Cato grins nastily as he says this. I smirk at him, almost hoping the boy will fail so I can kill him.

"It'll be my pleasure" I drawl. "You better get to work, District three. What's your name?"

"Apparatus. Aratus for short."

I visibly shake with laughter.

"Hear that? He wants us to call us by his _nickname._ Aw..." I jeer.

"Leave him, Clove. He has a job to do." lover-boy mutters. He isn't in a position to contradict me. I'm, I mean we're, keeping him alive just so we can kill Fire-girl alongside him. He is amazingly lucky to have not already have found out exactly what I'm capable of doing to him. And I don't want him calling me by my name, for some reason. It feels all wrong.

"I'm Two to you, lover-boy." I begin. Funny, I think, how tributes that aren't close always call each other by their district numbers. "And you don't have the right to-"

"Don't waste your breath on him, Clove. He hasn't got much longer to live, since he hasn't found Everdeen for us." Marvel says coldly. I shrug indifferently.

"I told you!" yowls lover-boy. "She'll be in the forest! Hunting and things!"

This information is news to me, however I sort of already knew it. Is this knowledge what we've been keeping lover-boy alive for?

"_A__ll_ of the tributes are in the forest, you retard! Doesn't take a genius to work that out!" I say, probably looking demented. A lunatic. I'm thinking about murdering lover-boy until I remember Aratus. He's already dug up some of the landmines in the ground, has buried one next to the supplies, and is fiddling with some wires protruding from the ground. Suddenly, he stops and backs away from the wires cautiously.

"It's activated." he whispers. "I'll do the others."

"You sure?" Cato asks.

"I'll show you." says Aratus softly. He throws a rock a the ground in front of him, and it blows the earth sky high, rocks and jet-black smoke catapulting into the air. The flash of orange I see brings back terrible memories of the fire; I have to turn away.

"Get on with the others." I hiss, trying to conceal my shudders as I walk away from the other careers. Then, a horrible thought occurs to me. "Kid - how are _we _going to get our supplies?" I say in horror. How could I have forgotten about that huge flaw? But Aratus is prepared.

"It's OK." he tells me calmly. "I'll create a path through the mines only you lot will know. Then you can get your things."

I nod stiffly, showing my approval, then wander towards the nearby trees. My burn medicine is wearing off now, and the pain is gradually starting to return. I curse fire, but don't let myself wince, moan, or cry.

Because I'm a career. And careers, as you may now know, don't cry.

**Thanks for reading! I love reviews! Yes, not bothering to be discreet, that is me in a nutshell, if your wondering.**


	10. Chapter 10, discovery

Talking about things... important things, that matter. I never do it, now. Though I hate to admit it, it always hurts me too much. I don't even want to do it. To say I didn't do it, before, when my life was complete, or almost complete, anyway, would be a lie.

When I was young, untarnished by the countless lies I've told and, shamefully, etc., I would always talk about things with my Mother, and my Father, as he wasn't always a monster. I was naive, never questioning anything. But a broken life, being crushed under the weight of unstoppable grief, it has all contributed to me being scared. Scared of being hurt, like I have been already. The solution I found was to turn into an unfeeling monster, like my Father. It was a mistake, to change like that. Better just to have emotions. What I did find, though, is that it's just easier to mostly stay silent.

So for as long as I can clearly remember, I've concentrated on knives, blocking out the world and refusing to speak about my suffering, in case the pain hits me. Only I never noticed it until now. And now it's too late, because I've trained myself to be incapable of speaking to people about my feelings, which, I have realized without... well, realizing it, throughout my time in the arena, is what I really need to do now.

Inevitably, fate always finds a way of overcoming you, so still I have to struggle with finding words to say to my companions. Who are more commonly known as the careers... And lover-boy.

It's him I find myself lured into understanding with first. An hour ago I would have laughed at the idea. And, when I think about it now, I would not blame myself for doing so. Feeling understanding, which is reasonably different to liking, I must add, for lover-boy? Preposterous.

But anyway, I'm wrapped up in my personal daydreams, listening to but not hearing the sound of Glimmer complaining about the ghastly taste of the tinned fruit everyone is nibbling on (I firmly ignore that she is right, the taste actually is awful, but I never want to have to agree with her.), noticeably isolated from everybody else, when it happens. In fact, I'm almost twenty feet away from everyone else, perched on a rotting log that dampens my trousers annoyingly.

You may think it is the obvious choice to sit with the people who are almost my almost friends. But adjusting is difficult, and nearly permanent seclusion is one of the hardest things to adjust from. I don't want to waste my energy trying to do it.

The previous thought I had, the one about almost having almost friends, amuses me for a moment. A stringy thirteen year old who has already committed murder at a tender age, a seemingly kind but strong, and always second best teenage boy who, my only friend, is drifting away from me, another teenage boy, but brutal and murderous, who I can never understand, a harmless and misleadingly beautiful girl that deeply dislikes me, and though I wasn't really including them, two outsiders, both of whom's life depends on five untrustworthy killers who have struck fragile bargains with them. They're an odd group. It's likely they all loath me.

I don't notice lover-boy approaching me until he's close enough for me to hear his breathing. I scold myself for not being alert enough to be prepared. I'm too late to plan my next move fast enough, not ready enough to send lover-boy on his way. I end up sounding feeble with my harsh, snap of "What do you want?", constructed last minute.

Annoying me, humiliating me, lover-boy doesn't look the slightest bit scared. My imagination exaggerates the situation - has he been observing me, learning my weaknesses, the point I am likely to break at? _But I don't have weaknesses, I never break at any point, _I console myself with, knowing deep down that it isn't true.

"You answer me, or you'll-" I try to keep the shakiness out of my voice, but I don't succeed and I stumble over my words.

"Regret it?" lover-boy's words sound like the kind of arrogant statement Cato would make. Only with Cato, they would give the effect of, for want of a better word, earned confidence. To put it simply, Cato knows he's good and uses it to his advantage, he doesn't act conceited without reason. Like lover-boy - what right has he to think himself superior to a career that could end his life (slowly and painfully) at any time, and is stronger, faster, more accurate and ultimately the superior one? A rhetorical question, but still, the answer is none.

Even my crazed expression doesn't sway lover-boy. He just gives me, causing me to consider murdering him immediately, the YAL look. Am I right in wanting to kill fire-girl more than him? This doubt, almost lost in my mind in the blindness fury creates, leads me to think about the worries that plague my dreams sometimes, the ones about his true loyalties and if he has some secret plan that could harm me greatly. When I wake up, these fears drift away, leaving me feeling that the strange uncertainties that make me almost... almost _reluctant_ are just slight, stupid, baseless confusions. However, now I wonder if they _are _baseless. Can Peeta Mellark really be trusted to help me and the others? Or was he truthful when he confessed his feelings for fire-girl? Surely it was just an act, but...

Then I understand. When we mention her, his face crumples. Why didn't I note that before? When he watches Glimmer with her bow and arrows, he wears the same wistful expression that he does when he's lost in thought, obviously (now it is, anyway) thinking of fire-girl. Which means that archery must be her secret weapon. Fits, really. That was the station she always avoided in training, which was why I could never identify her strength. It makes me wildly happy then horrified.

Happy because Glimmer has the only bow and arrows in the arena. Fire-girl has no chance without her precious thread to life - almost snapping. Horrified because I realize that she does have a chance... Without her archery. Because she's stayed alive, hasn't she? She's avoided the careers, all other tributes, unless she's allied with one of them, and survived free of the help that gave her so much popularity, mystery, and that unbelievable training score! We thought that if we could deprive her of what gave her her skills, then she'd be dead. But she's already deprived, and managing just fine! With the boy that honestly, sincerely loves her and would probably do anything for her in the middle of the career pack!

I let out a piercing scream that, if there was some around, would shatter glass. Only I don't, not for more than a second, because a hand closes over my mouth. Lover-boy! He knows that I know. I don't have time for this, I need to warn Cato, warn everybody else, that he isn't really leading us to fire-girl, he's protecting her!

"Don't tell them. Let me explain."

He pleas aren't going to even make me waver for a second. I never believed in his empty words, not in actuality, and now beyond doubt I have no faith in them at all. Not the slightest, smallest drop. I reach for my knife, that I slipped in my pocket earlier, and feel like there is a caged animal of panic and fear struggling to escape from my chest when I realize that lover-boy has cleverly removed it. Despite the constant wrestling training I've completed, I can't break free of his arms, wrapped around my face and my stomach, and now he's holding a knife - my knife - against my throat. He can't - he wouldn't - he couldn't - he would never _kill_ me - would he? Maybe he wouldn't, but he COULD. Right now he could finish me off. And the shadows conceal me and the awful situation I'm in from Cato, Marvel, Glimmer, Tabby and Aratus. I can do nothing but hear lover-boy out.

Just in case it helps and I can avoid doing that, I bite his hand. Blood trickles from the teethmarks on his palm, red, sticky and slightly exaggerating the wound. I can feel it staining my chin, see lover-boy's unflinching face. I've achieved nothing with my desperate, final bid for freedom.

"Let me go!" I whine, my words barely audible through my enemy's hand, knowing it's pointless to act unfazed.

"You'll just go tell that lot about me, won't you? I'm not stupid!"

"Well done! You caught on! But tell you what, if you release me now, I might convince Cato to let you live for the rest of the week..."

"That's right, rely on him. "If you don't do this Cato will kill you, if you don't do that Cato will break your neck...""

The unflattering and hopefully inaccurate imitation of me is more astonishing than angering. Who would of guessed that lover-boy had it in him to mock me? I would almost feel something close to respect for him, if it weren't for evident reasons.

"Get your filthy hands off me! Get OFF!" I've reached the stage where I know there's nothing I can do, but don't want to sacrifice my pride by ceasing resisting my captor. Surely even my muffled voice should reach the people who could save me? I'm angry at the piece of bad fortune that is it obviously doesn't. And even if it did, they would almost certainly think by my screams I was giving lover-boy a hard time, not vice versa, and wouldn't care less. Why? I find myself silently moaning. Why?

I notice that lover-boy is just waiting, still refusing to release me but... showing no signs of killing me, either. Is he too pure to do it? Does he not dare? And yet he calmly, coldly, murdered the District Eight girl. Well, maybe when out of my sight he wasn't calm and cold, but ultimately he still killed her, whether he was happy about it or not. She wasn't guilty of anything, that girl, and she was subjected to the wrath of the careers, unfairly, I guess it must of seemed to her, her family and friends, and most of the people in Panem. Even I have to admit I'm one of the most tainted, sinful people in the arena, so if an innocent 15 year old seems necessary to kill in Lover-boy's eyes, then what am I? This is an excellent oppurtunity for him to get one of his greatest competiters out of the way. True, he would have to explain my death to the other careers, but he would probably come up with something, the smooth liar he is. Had us all fooled, didn't he? Still has us all fooled, with the exception of me, though the way things are going, I won't be present to enlighten my allies on what I now know. All because for one second I was an idiot. For one second I was't prepared, and then made it foolishly obvious what I had realized. How could I of been such an idiot?

"Fine. Try me. See if I... Um... See your point of view." The airy, close to gentle voice I'm trying to use sounds alien on me. But if I let lover-boy talk, maybe he'll be so into his speech that I'll be able to wriggle free of him. Just maybe. "So... Do you... love her?" Even my light (Well, possibly not so light) question makes me sound kind of fake and uninterested. I am simply not good at this kind of thing. And I don't really believe in love. So why try to act like I do with someone I'm attempting to trick and escape from? I don't know why, but I do it anyway, clinging onto my single shred of hope.

"This isn't a cosy chat. I need... I need to make you understand something."

"What, that your a lying, cheating-" I stop abruptly, thinking I've blown it. Have I? But no, lover-boy continues to speak.

"I keep you alive, you don't blow my cover."

"How do you know I can be trusted?"

"Well, if you blow my cover after I spare you, then I don't lead you to Katniss-"

"Your not leading us to her anyway! And why would you WANT to help us find her if you love-" I stop, feeling the knife press a little harder against my throat, then give myself a small shake. I shouldn't be scared, I'm not weak, I'm a career. And unless something exhilarating is going on somewhere else, I'm being screened all over the country. I must look strong, BE strong.

"If you love her?" I continue.

"I never said anything about loving her."

"Yes, but I've got eyes, ever noticed? You're fooling us and I know it. You don't really want her dead..."

"Did I say anything about that?"

"Try and stop yourself from being so obviously lovesick every time anyone mentions her name..."

"Look - I WILL lead you to her! But that's not the point! If you blow my cover-"

"How many times do you need to use that phrase?"

"Shut it! If you give me away then I'll just run! And I know everything about you! I know the path through the landmines, I know your routines, I know what angle your playing-"

"No, you don't. You know what angle Cato and Glimmer are playing, you know what angle Marvel's playing... They talk about it often enough. But do you know mine?"

"For all you know, I do."

"You know I can throw a knife, you know I don't care about anything... But that's it. I do have my... er... hidden depths." Improvision isn't my style, and I think it shows.

"Course you do. Note the sarcasm. But remember, you have two options... I let you go once you've agreed to my terms, or you get a taste of your own medicine... Your own knife, let's say..."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Wouldn't I?"

Lover-boy raises his weapon and his brow creases in concentration.

"Fine!" I shriek, a little to hysterically for my liking. "I agree!"

"To my conditions?"

"Yes."

"Well, there's one more thing."

"What is it?"

"Well... Maybe you could... Maybe... Sort of... Call me... Peeta?"

"In your dreams, lover-boy."

"I could still finish you off now."

"I'll settle for Mellark."

"Deal."

He releases me and I, momentarily surprised by my sudden freedom, hesitate for a second before deciding to go and get some food. Then, somehow, I feel like my head has just been screwed on, and I nearly black out with the thought of something I've missed.

"Wait." I smile nastily as I say this. "Your big hold over me was that you had me at the mercy of your knife..."

"You've already agreed to my terms." Mellark whispers nervously. I continue anyway.

"But now you don't... However, there was your second hold." Anticapation is heavy in the air, almost frustrating. "That you'll run if I make a move. But you missed something."

"What's that?" There's no masking the fear in the voice of the boy that is now destined to die.

"You shouldn't count on the fact that you'll be able to run without us catching you... We are careers. How many options have I got when it comes to outsmarting you? Literally thousands! I could go and tell Cato everything now, and what's your big escape plan? Run? There'll be a spear in your back before you've taken a step! And, even if you did get away, we'd catch you in the end."

I pause for breathe, and for dramatic effect.

"In the unlikely event that you did have some sort of hold against any of us careers... you'd be dead before you could act upon it! I hold all the cards!" Some sort of maniac's laugh tumbles from my lips. Finally, Lover-boy is going to die... Until I realize he still has the knife, whilst I'm weaponless. I swear softly. What an idiot I am.

I've never believed in any kind of religious god. I never believed in any kind of powerful king residing in the heavens that controlled everyone's fate. We make our own paths, I believe, and the successful are always the one's who poison and double-cross and murder - etc. etc.. Take president Snow for instance; he's at the very top of the status pile - and how did he get there? I think you already know the answer.

But the God that I never thought existed has bestowed a miracle - an act of mercy - upon me. Lover-boy actually has missed that fateful fact. How many times in one person's life does such good fortune be the saviour of a situation? I silently thank the Lord, and, certainly pushing my new found luck, carry on with my speech.

"So now I guess I go enlighten everyone - isn't that right, bread-boy?"

Mellark seems slightly shocked by my new choice of nickname. I was actually referring to pita, a kind of bread, that is so similar to his name, but perhaps I have, coincidentally, triggered a memory of something important in his past. Probably, he is wondering how I know about it, whatever it is. I can tell he's dying to ask me, but has more important things on his mind.

"Depends what kind of hold I have over your little mates, doesn't it, two?" he challenges me with his short and rhetorical question. Deep down, some part of me registers that it is really ironic that he is calling Cato, of all people, little - however, this newest threat is probably more important at the moment, so I don't dwell on it.

"Well, as it falls into the section of 'no hold'... Let's just say I'm not too worried."

"Maybe your wrong. Maybe it falls into the section of 'inconvinient for Clove hold'."

"TWO. You call me TWO. Or District two. Not CLOVE. TWO."

"Yes, I get it."

My tongue automatically finds its way out of my mouth, pointing at Lover-boy. Hurriedly, I draw it back.

"Whatever. But what hold would that be?"

"You're a threat to them. You're a danger. You could win this-"

"Who exactly is them?" I already know the answer.

"You're beloved Cato. Marvel. The other ones. You're pretty much the only one who stands a chance at beating them-"

"So you obviously have no faith in your girlfriend." I'm ignored.

"It would be convinient for THEM to get you out of the way-"

"Heard of an alliance before?"

"Heard of the 72nd Hunger games? The 69th? The 67th?"

"I grew up in TWO. A CAREER district."

"Then you'll know that alliances are ALWAYS BROKEN. Won't you?"

"You're wrong! I know you are!" But it's a very real possibility. Cato could be plotting to kill me. On the other hand... I never would of thought it of Marvel. Never. And what part would Lover-boy play in this?

"I'd be careful, Clove. I'd be very careful. You shouldn't trust anyone..."

"HOW MANY TIMES! TWO! You call me TWO!"

Mellark nods, though I doubt he was even listening to me. This is proved when he absent-mindedly throws my knife at the ground and vaguely starts speaking.

"How do you get the knife to lodge in the object firmly?"

"Get the angle right... and use a lot of strength, without overbalancing it." I reply automatically, very nearly kicking myself afterwards. Giving Lover-boy tips is not what I should be doing!

"Thanks."

"You SHOULD be thankful."

"Hmmmm."

"Why- why are you risking your life for her?"

"I care about her." He seems angry with himself for letting that slip out, but carries on. "Don't you care about anyone? Your family?"

"They're all dead. Whether literally or mentally... Well, it doesn't matter which. All dead. Twisted or gone." Why am I saying this? Am I becoming deluded? Possibly.

"I'm sorry."

"I don't want your pity."

"Whatever you say. But... I have my own experiences of twisted parents."

"You can't lure me with a sob story."

"Maybe I can't. But it was worth a try." My insides smile at that. I can't stop them. Or the small laugh that I utter. Of course it's shortlived.

"Can I call you Clove, then?"

"No."

"Oh."

"I don't like you anymore than before." _But I understand you. You're smart... Though I'm smarter._

"Shame."

"It is NOT."

"Everything alright, Clove?" His smooth voice surprises me.

"Cato!" My voice is confused squeak.

"Clove? Are you... Feeling alright?"

"Lover-boy - he said that-"

"It looks like that District five girl is still alive!" Lover-boy cuts me off.

"No! He said-" Cato's slightly sly smile pushes my sentance back down my throat. I can't take any risks. "-Just that."

"Ok." His worry is evidant. I must seem like a lunatic. "I'll go back to the fire, then."

"Ok!" I squeak instead of talk once again. I send a death glare straight at Lover-boy's head.

But as I walk away, I do feel like I'm almost in the same boat as him. My solitary ship, home to nobody but me for so long, has finally become a place of peace for another. How sentimental.

"Hey." I say to Marvel as I crouch on the ground next to the fire. He shoots me a look of absolute shock. "What?" I say, almost indignant.

"You just used a normal, friendly greeting."

"Is that so amazing?"

"Yes. Want some peach?"

"What's it like?"

"It's kind of squishy, but if you get it in your mouth fast it'll probably be alright."

I eye the slimy orangy yellow stains on his jacket and decline the food.

"I think I'll just go with apricots."

"Suit yourself."

I gulp water as I swallow the dried fruit, hoping it will take the nasty taste away. I never thought that it could taste like that, but when it's pretty much all you eat, it becomes disgusting.

"Yak." I moan, aware that I sound childish but not caring. No-one else seems to either.

Lover-boy emerges out of the darkness that the slowly dimming sky creates. He's watching me, I can feel it, but I don't meet his eyes. It's not like I don't dare. I don't really know what it is. I just can't do it.

"Any food?" He says. Cato eyes him coolly, saying,

"Oh... I dunno. See, we were hoping to hunt for tributes tonight, so there's not much time to eat... Maybe, if you, say... were to prove yourself tonight... then there might be something going spare..."

Might? I stare at the huge pyramid of supplies to my right, it seeming to me that it's glaring me and everyone else in the face that all the tributes in the arena couldn't finish it off. I guess that it's just Cato's plan. He's hinting something.

"How exactly do I prove myself?"

"Well... It's certainly a charming evening tonight... Perfect night to extinguish a fire, it's so warm... Perfect night to extinguish the girl on fire..."

My heart begins to beat fast. Somehow, I've got to make sure Peeta doesn't double-cross us, without him knowing that I'm doing that. I can't let him go alive, unscathed, or unbeaten. The burning desire to fulfil that has something to do with the dignity I never lose without at least attempting to save it.

"So let's go." I say loudly, standing up. "Let's show them that we can throw water on the flames."

I was never really one to twist metaphors into my words, but I find that I like it. Words aren't such a bad thing, really.

"Come on then." Marvel scowls, for reasons I don't and never will understand. Anyway, we do just what he says.

"Should we split up?" Cato suggests after we've practically searched the surrounding area with a fine tooth comb. "We might make some more progress."

No-one has any objections once we see the commanding, there-isn't-really-two-options-when-answering-my-question look on his face, surprise, surprise.

"Marvel, you go with Glimmer." he adds.

"I don't want to go with Glimmer!" Marvel hisses in a low voice.

"_Upgrade _to lover-boy then."

"Never. I'd rather go with Aratus."

"Aratus isn't coming. He's staying to guard the supplies."

"What?" I interrupt the quiet argument. I was planning to pair with Aratus, because he would just be a irrelevent shadow following me around with the battered spear he tries and fails to use. Therefore it'd be like I would be alone, my absolute, without a doubt, preferance. Both boys, at my surprised uttering, spin round to look at me.

"Why should you care about that midget?"

"Does it make any difference what he's doing?"

They speak me at the same time. I shrug, succeeding in looking totally indifferent.

"Is it any of your business?" I, uninterested, yawn. Glimmer, examining her nails, seems to notice that everybody else is having a conversation for the first time.

"Oh - I want to go with Cato." She winks at the boy in question as she says this. He, horrified, does not now how to reject her, his worried features imply. Not giving him time to work out how to, I request my partner.

"I'll go with Tabby."

"I'm with lover-boy." Marvel seems to finally decide that, on reflection, he would rather pair with a district twelve weakling than with Glimmer. It's surprising and yet not surprising at all.

"Everyone happy?" I ask, risking a glance at Cato. I think he remembers the 'romance' he's supposed to be having with Glimmer, and nods stiffly. Marvel and Mellark plunge into the forest to the left, Cato and Glimmer into the trees straight ahead. That leaves me and Tabby to explore the wheat fields in the opposite direction.

The rocky descent that we first have to navigate is tough, but somehow enjoyable. Having something to do, an achievable goal, lifts the scowl off my face and replaces it with content. After swinging my legs over what seems like thousands of rocks and sliding off countless ledges that decorate the cliff-face, my aching feet finally meet the fields below.

"Come on!" I call to Tabby.

She acts like the child she is, skipping ahead and occasionally plucking blades of grass from the soil to twirl around her fingers. The newly existant moonlight beats down on us; I merely cringe at its brightness (is the moon meant to be so overwhelming?), whilst Tabby lets it turn her blonde hair golden with its white glow, and lifts her innocent face to it. I can't help but stare wistfully at her antics. Though I would rather do pretty much anything than embarrass myself by pretending I'm young, carelessly dancing and giving in to conflicting or weakening emotions, it would be, I have to admit, nice to be able to. However, I chose my path, coldness and indifference, and there's no turning back.

More attentive than my partner, I take in every detail of the fields we trek through, the small, thorny oases* that we pass, and thickets of tall vines that could easily conceal the largest tribute. When my tongue begins to develop the texture of sandpaper and my stomach is screaming for food, I suggest that we stop and take a break. Its not even a suggestion; when with my inferiors, my word is law.

In the supplies, I happened to find the unbelievable luxery of cows milk, the kind they have in District ten. I managed to slip the single bottle in my backpack, and now consent to share it with Tabby. She seems unusually joyful as she takes the first sip.

"My sister used to like that stuff." she admits. I don't quite know what to say.

"How old's your sister?" I finally think of.

"Eleven."

"What's her name?"

"Catherine."

There's about one second of silence before I let out an explosive snort of laughter.

"What?" I've offended Tabby, but I don't think she sees the irony.

"Kitty is short for Catherine." I grin. "Tabby? Kitty? Does your Mother like cats or what?"

"No. Cathy was named after my Father's sister and I was named after my gran. Coincidental, the cat thing."

"How can naming your daughter Tabby be coincidentally to do with cats? No offence."

"My name is Tabitha. Only I get Tabby."

"It's still funny."

"No, it isn't." But she smiles a very small smile even so.

"I guess you miss your family." I say, I think, out of curiosity. Missing _my_ family isn't really something that is part of my life. There's only one other member except of me and my Father, and I've never met them. My only living cousin is a peacekeeper in District 6 and has been all my life.

"Well, I'm never going to see them again, so why bother?"

"What?" I've been caught off balance.

"It's obvious I'm never going to win these games. There never was a chance for me."

"Don't- Don't say that. Your a good fighter."

"What - you think I could win against Cato? Against you? Yeah, right. I'll probably be dead by tomorrow and everyone knows it."

"Remember what you said in your interview Tabby! The underdog pulls through!"

"See - You just admitted it. I'm the underdog. I'm going to lose. I'm going to die."

_Why did no-one volunteer for Tabby? She's only thirteen! In three or four years she could of won the games! _I find myself screaming mentally at the world. Why DID no-one volunteer for Tabby? Four is a career district! But I guess that I'll never know that, though, so what's the point in wondering?

Regretting her outburst, probably, Tabby clears her throat quietly, more he usual self.

"I had an idea." she says tentatively. "You see - back home, we used to weave nets, mostly out of rope. But... If there was none, we could use grass, seaweed, anything avaliable, really."

"Oh." Is all occurs to me for a reply. Why am I being told this?

"And in the training centre I learnt a snare... like the ones you get when to trip over a rope and a net falls on you. Only there would be no tripping over a rope, the victim would just have to walk under the net to activate it... and the net would pin them to the ground, so they wouldn't be able to escape and we wouldn't have to be there when someone got caught." She continues in a rush.

"So your suggesting...?"

"I can make some. We could place them around the arena."

"Your sure you could?"

"Certain."

"Then we'll do it. It's a good idea."

"Thanks."

And that's it. We don't say anything else to each other all day, except the occasional sentence here and there. I fact, I barely say another word to Tabby ever again. But that isn't for now, that information. In my eyes, it isn't for ever.

Later on, Tabby and I become tired of circling the wheat fields, without a single thing to shape the repetitiveness into even the tiniest moment of excitement, so we head towards the forest; surely it must be more of a rewarding area.

But no, still nothing occurs that could be classed as progress. I want nothing more than to grope (The darkness is now more like a blindfold than a irrelevent shadow) my way back to our camp. The icy cold numbs my feet and the rest of my body, but I'm the one that complains about the stength and endurance of others - I can't escape the fact that I can't, I won't, be a hypocrite. Except from weak, it's the one thing I'll never be.

Soon a small prickle of worry begins to tickle my insides. Now it's an understatement to say I can't see a thing - for all I know I could of walked out of the arena and into the centre of... of District thirteen! Yes, there are force fields, but that's not the point.

"Damn!" I whisper hoarsely as my hip bumps against a tree. "I can't..." I brush some mossy stuff off my trousers. "...See anything!"

"Want these?" A small, cold hand pushes a pair of glasses into my palm. Night vision glasses. Am I really so thick I forgot those?

Taking the glasses, I put them on and the world becomes alive - everything is sharp in detail and not even a small black fuzz is clouding my surroundings.

"Thank you." I mutter awkwardly. Apparantly Tabby has no comment because... she doesn't comment.

I march forwards with more confidence now, my eyes skimming up the trunks of trees, patches of ground. I'm careful not to let anything escape from my notice.

Obviously not careful enough. Only seconds later, I let my eyelids shield everything around me from my vision, just for a moment to let myself calm down. Nothing too stupid or ignorant, just a second to breathe. Still, possibly a fatal act, though it wasn't.

A heavy, solid body smashes into mine, leaving me winded and sore. A nervous laugh follows my wince, though not from my lips. From Glimmer's.

I shriek, slashing out with my nails at her silhouette until I spot Cato. Who is responsible for my aching torso.

"You are SO DEAD!" I roar in his ear. I want to wipe the smile on his face right off, literally. Until I realize he isn't smiling. He seems concerned.

"Sorry."

"HA HA HA. I hate you, Cato Grayman! I HATE YOU. Get away from me!"

"Whoa! Chill!"

"I will not chill!"

"It was an accident!"

"Yeah! Right!"

"Seriously! You're flipping out!"

I turn and run as fast as I can into the trees ahead.

I can't let stupid taunts like that get to me, though.

Because I'm a career.

And careers don't cry.


End file.
